


Left Feet

by seasalticecream32



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:23:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasalticecream32/pseuds/seasalticecream32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper is waiting on a certain someone to ask her to the dance. </p><p>Set in "Bees in the Honeysuckle."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Feet

“Wanna go to the dance with me?” The boy leaned against her desk, his face bright red and his eyes hopeful. Two other boys stood whispering at their friend’s bravery.

Molly wondered if he’d been dared to ask her. She’d never even talked to him before. She couldn’t, for the life of her, think of his name. “Erm… No, but thank you for asking.”

The boy’s face fell, and he shifted away from her. “What? Already have a date?”

“Um… No. I just… I don’t know you. And I don’t want to go with a stranger.” She propped her book up, a flimsy barrier that she ducked her head under.

To her surprise, a hand tugged the book down, the boy’s frowning face revealing itself once more. “What? What’s wrong with me?”

Molly sighed, pulling her book closer, and skimming over the history chapter they were supposed to read for homework.

“Hey!”

And suddenly, her book was out of her hands and snapped shut, the boy’s face red and his mouth in a petulant frown.

“Look. Do you even know my name?” She felt a headache building at her temples, but she forced herself to meet the boy’s eyes full on.

 

He puffed his chest out. “Well, I can fix that.” He stuck a hand in her face, with what she assumed was supposed to be a charming smile stretched across his lips. “My name’s Josh. Nice to meet you.”

“I am still going to say no.” She narrowed her eyes, and heard a snort of laughter behind her. She felt her own cheeks burn pink.

  
“What’re you laughing at?” The boy, clearly humiliated, practically screamed Sherlock snickering behind her.

“You, of course.” Sherlock slouched in his chair, his feet propped against the back of hers. “You’re making a fool of yourself. Just go on. She’s said no.”  
“What, you think she’ll say yes to you?” The boy sneered at him, crossing his arms, stepping away from Molly’s desk.

“I don’t do dances.” Sherlock’s tone snapped to sternness, his feet dropping with a thump onto the ground.

“You’re not going to prom?” She asked the question, quickly, before she could stop herself.

“I don’t do dances.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at her intently for a moment. “You’re not going either. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“It’s not like I don’t want to go!” She curled around her book, biting her lip. “I’m just waiting on the right boy to ask me.” She cast him a sidelong glance, but he was already picking at the peeling book cover. She started to ask him what was the matter, but she didn’t get the chance.

“Well, good luck with that.” He hopped up and scrambled from the classroom, hands stuffed in his pockets, book tucked behind his arm. Molly watched him go, confused.

He didn’t come back for the rest of class. When she left to go to her next one, she was surprised to hear more than a few girls whispering about the scene with Josh. One of them bumped into her, shoulder ramming hard and purposefully into her arm. She frowned, continuing on to biology. She hadn’t thought Josh was that popular.

By the time lunch rolled around, she’d learned a few things.

“So, did you know girls are into Sherlock?” Molly whispered it to Mary, speaking through the stale cardboard pizza. “Like, really into him.”

“Hm, yeah. Well, you’ve nothing to worry about.” Mary smiled at her, poking her food around with a scrunched nose. “This stuff looks really terrible.”

“What makes you say that? Why would I be worried?” She looked down, questioning if the hunger in her stomach was powerful enough to choke down the glop of potatoes they’d molded into a plastic cup. With a glance at the pale gray gravy congealed on the top, she decided she could do without.

“Oh come on, love. You’re not fooling anyone.” Mary pushed her tray away, shaking her head. “Besides, he’s not into many of the people here. He’s one of those super picky types.”

“I thought he wasn’t interested in anyone, you know, romantically.” She took another bite and nearly gagged as she managed to snag a particularly burnt bit of cheese. She put the pizza down and moved her tray away. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to another girl.”  
Mary laughed, waving John over. “I think he said one time that he found them distracting. He’s definitely interested. At least, I know he’s pretty interested in one.”

Molly’s cheeks burned red. Mary had hinted more than once that Sherlock harbored a number of feelings, some of them cruder than others. After a few moments of silence, Mary pulled out her phone, flipping through a few pictures before she shoved the screen in Molly’s face.

“What do you think of this color? Will it go, or will it clash with my hair?” A yellow dress, slinky and long, draped over a thin model with a wide, wide smile. Mary raised an eyebrow at Molly’s dropped mouth, before realizing she hadn’t covered the considerable price. “Well, it looks a bit like a banana if you ask me,” she said, clicking off the picture and searching for another one.

“I think you should go for red.” Molly suggested, imagining something red and bubbled and short on Mary’s pale frame. “And some subdued lipstick and some really dramatic eye-shadow.”

Mary tilted her head, giving a quick look to John. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“Well, it’s what I would wear.” She blushed, looking back at her tray of old food. “I mean, I’m sure it would look great on you.”

“You’re a bit odd, aren’t you, Molly?” John spoke up, chuckling. He’d managed to trade off a soda for a few chicken tenders, munching happily on his slightly-better-than-mediocre lunch.

“Thanks, John. Love you, too.” She mumbled, pulling out her history book. She had another test, and if she didn’t pass this one, she’d struggle the rest of the semester.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sour.” He grumbled back at her, and Mary smacked his arm. “Anyway, have you seen Sherlock? He wasn’t in second or third period.”

Molly looked up at him, surprised. “Well, he left before first period, but I assumed he’d have been back by now?”

“Gone for a few hours, and suddenly everyone gets worried.” A deep voice rumbled behind her, and she turned to see Sherlock standing behind her, arms crossed and mouth tilted in a smirk. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Eat lunch. Laugh a little. Get along to class without any shenanigans,” Mary laughed.

Sherlock harrumphed, sliding into his seat without a lunch. He passed through the rest of the break without a word.

He wasn’t in her next class. Or the next. But her final period, he took the seat behind her, grumpy and disheveled and more than a little bruised. She didn’t have the chance to talk to him before he rushed out of the classroom and down the hall. She caught a glimpse of John following him to the parking lot, and then headed home alone.

The following weeks were filled with happily paired couples planning prom and a few more straggling hopefuls asking Molly as their date. Always, with a shaky smile and a gentle voice, she turned them down. After one particularly heartbroken boy, she heard a sigh behind her, with a scarlet sweatered arm crossing her shoulders.

“Why on earth are you turning all these lovely lads down? I mean, if I wasn’t with John, I’d jump on the chance to go with that one.” She pointed at the, admittedly, attractive boy sulking away down the hall.

“Well, honestly, I wouldn’t have anything to wear. And if I went, who would stay home with…” She stopped. Mary was already gazing at her pityingly.

“Oh love, I wish I could help you.” Mary kissed her cheek, leaving a smear of red lipstick. “Now, get on. I’ll meet you in your room. I’ll let you try on some of my dresses. In case you change your mind.”  

“I won’t,” Molly mumbled, eyes lowered as she shuffled away. Mary did not hear her.

She came home to a quiet house, too tired to bother with studying at the moment. She rushed into her room, closing the door behind her. Soap operas and her mother’s snores carried on in the living room.

She flopped onto her bed, looking out the window and into the cloudy evening sky. A soft song, slow and quiet and sweet on the wind, carries from the apartment next door. She doesn’t have to guess what’s going on over there. John had been taking lessons for two weeks now. From what Mary told her, he wasn’t getting much better. A string of giggles and teasing make hers mile into her pillow, even as her eyes water.

Even if she’d managed to find a suitable dress, what would it matter? She didn’t want to go with any of those boys. She didn’t like them, or their unfamiliarity, or their eyes tracing over her scant curves and awkward angles, as if trying to imagine that something more lay under her sweaters and baggy pants. How could she go anywhere without her mother’s snark and anger following her?

She’s still considering this when she hears the music stop, the two lovebirds scurrying through Mary’s window to stand on the fire escape, both of them staring in at her with grins over their faces.

“My toes are numb. Your brother is a terrible dancer.” Mary spoke loudly through the glass, and Molly glanced towards her door.

Molly is surprised to see a mess of curls poke around the corner, long limbs and pale skin struggling out of Mary’s room. Sherlock tugs his clothes into place, leaving his hair in all kinds of tangles. His cheeks flushed red when he looked in to see Molly staring at him curiously.

“Sherlock? I didn’t know you were learning to dance, too.” For a moment Molly was confused, until she noticed the sheen of sweat over his skin and the deepening blush. “Oh lord, you’re going to the prom too.”

“Well, actually–” He started, but Molly turned her back.

“Oh, don’t feel sorry for me. I mean, I know you don’t. Feel sorry for me, that is. It’s fine. Really.” She sniffled, wiping the moisture from her eyes and leaving her back to the trio. She wasn’t sure why she’s upset. She hadn’t expected Sherlock to ask her. And she couldn’t have gone anyway. Regardless, envy ached in her stomach and in her chest, and she recalled the feel of his kiss on her cheek and his hand against hers and all the moments of  _something_  shining behind blue eyes.

By the time prom night rolled around, Molly had come around to the idea of spending the night mostly alone at the apartment. Momma plucked imaginary fuzz from Mary’s dress, which was indeed a bright red affair of draped fabric and backless, smooth silk. They stood in the doorway, gushing over John’s outdated suit and scuffed shoes. Momma was already celebrating her first baby’s first prom, a large glass sloshing to spill drops of red onto the floor.

“Lookit my boy! All grown up, gonna take care of his woman.” Momma pinched his cheek. “Do good by her, Johnny-boy.”

Mary stood coolly, a smile stretching her lips and her hand tightening around John’s arm as his face grew red with irritation. “Well, we really have to hurry. Reservations in half an hour.”

Mary came suddenly to Molly’s side, giving her a warm hug and pressing her cheek to Molly’s. “Open the window. I’ve left you a surprise,” she whispers, a breath ghosting over her ear in surprise.

Molly nodded minutely against Mary’s smooth cheek. The moment that the couple shuffled out the door, all awkward grins and exaggerated waves, Molly rushed back to the room. She threw the excuse of studying over her shoulder and closed the door quickly behind her.

The dress, draped over the rails of the fire escape, was yellow tulle cut above the knee and a sweetheart bodice. It’s not the prettiest dress, but she loved the color. It was the color of sunlight and gold.

She pulled it on, glad for the sweet gesture, but still disappointed in the night. She put on quiet music and opened her textbook, only to doodle meaningless shapes and swirls onto her paper.

She’d been at it for nearly an hour when she heard a sharp rap against her window. She turned to find a shivering Sherlock, expression grumpy. She scrambled across to pull up the window, flinching at the screeching frame. Sherlock tumbled in, and without hesitation curled himself into her blanket.

“Hey!” She pouted at him, her textbook and paper falling to the floor.

Sherlock dragged her comforter with him as he crossed to the small cd player she’d hidden in her closet. He fumbled with something under the worn yellow fluff before he finally managed to remove her cd, replacing it with a plain, silver disc.

“What are you doing? You better put that back.” She crossed her arms, her cheeks turning red.

“Oh, stop your worrying. I’m just warming up a bit. You weren’t using it anyway.” He placed her cd on the top of the player, and she was certain he’d done it just to aggravate her.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Now, come here and get in position.” He dropped her blanket, held out his hands, and straightened his back.

“What are you doing?” She noted his dress slacks and button up shirt, both black. Shiny shoes and combed hair. “Are you late for your date?”

He rolled his eyes, arms dropping in frustration. “I don’t have a date, Molly. I told you I don’t do dances.”

“But you do dancing?” She tilted her head, briefly allowing herself to enjoy the tight pull of his shirt across his chest and the long, graceful bend of his fingers as he got himself back into position.

“I’ve always excelled at dancing. One of the classic skills gentlemen were required to know in the…” He faded off, scowling at the smirk on her lips.

“No. Definitely not.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to object. “I’m not saying you don’t excel at dancing, but you only do things with real life application. Not because stuffy old men in wigs used to demand it of gentleman.”

His scowl faded as she spoke, into a pleased sort of smile. “Nice observation. So why then did I come here?”

Molly thought about it for a moment, until she recalled Mary telling her to open the window. “Mary has set you up to this. She’s going to have you give me dance lessons so I don’t feel alone for prom.” The gesture was sweet but she felt her face burning with embarrassment. She really didn’t need a babysitter to keep her from crying all night. Molly moved towards the window, about to open it again. “No, really, it’s fine. You can go home. I’ll tell Mary I said to go.”

Sherlock stiffened, eyes narrowed. “Molly, come here.”

She stopped with her hands on the window sill, the skirt of the dress snagging on the rough patches of her mattress. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I don’t. Come here.” He stood, hand held out for her.

“Why?” She’d already moved off her bed and into the small space between her bed and Johns. Sherlock wasted no time in grabbing her hands and placing them in the correct position.

The music he’d put on was his own violin playing. She recognized a song he’d played before, when he’d played at the school or when she and John and Mary had met in their hiding places. She looked between them, down at her bare-feet against the mess of her floor.

“Because I told Mary I would. Now, I’m going to explain a simple dance to you.” He spoke clearly and authoritative. She did not miss the tremor in his hands or the pink across his cheeks, or his refusal to meet her eyes.

“If you told Mary you’d give me dance lessons, I really don’t want them.” She smiled, moving forward, laying her head against his chest. “Why didn’t you go to prom?”

To her surprise, she and Sherlock swayed easily in the music, in a similar fashion to how he would move gracefully about the room with his violin tucked under his chin.

“No one asked me.” He rested his hand on her waist, his arms stiff and his back straight. “Also, I really don’t do dances. Too many people.”

“I didn’t think you were shy?” She couldn’t remember a time where Sherlock had ever seemed shy. Although she could think of plenty where some shyness may have helped him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just not one for crowds of people with all their secrets spilling out all over the place.”

Molly nodded, her forehead bumping against the buttons on his shirt. “I can understand that. So, how did Mary convince you to show up here?”

“She said you needed dance lessons.”

They moved over her comforter. His smell swelled over her, like a warm, comfortable blanket tinged with cigarette smoke. She ran her hand absently over his chest, entwining her fingers in his as she sunk into the comfort of Sherlock’s presence. Maybe she was the only person in the world who felt this way, but she doubted it.

His head rested against her head as the music wafted softly and slowly around the room. Molly’s eyelids grew heavy, their steps shorter until they stopped altogether.

“So, how did you learn to dance?” She smiled, imagining a young Sherlock twirling and pointing and bowing.

“Mycroft taught me.” He mumbled against her hair.

“No. You would’ve just refused to do it if your brother did it. You two are always at odds.” She pulled back, intending to laugh and poke him. She was surprised to see him looking at her with a peculiar light to his eye, his head tilted towards her. “How did you really learn?”

“I used Youtube. Hid it away so no one would know.” He smiled faintly, pulling away to reposition them.

She studied him, surprised to find he gave no indication of joking. “You’re serious? But why?”

“Come on. Someone like me? I already have a hard enough time getting along with everyone. Who needs to add a dancing hobby to distance myself from the other boys in elementary?” He moved them around, eyes focused once more on their feet.

She misstepped onto his foot but he didn’t say anything. “I’d like you remind you, you’re not actually giving me lessons. You’re indulging me for Mary. I’d much rather just have your company than be dragged around my room.”

He stopped suddenly, Molly bumping face first into his chest. He tilted his head at her, blue eyes confused and hands gentle over hers.

“I’m not here because Mary forced me.” He leaned towards her, gaze level with hers. “I’m here because we’d both be alone otherwise.”

She started to object, to pull away, before he wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her against him, whispering into her ear. “I’m here because I couldn’t bear the thought of you going out with Josh and dancing with him like you’re dancing with me.”

“So you just didn’t want me being with some strange guy?” She shifted into a more comfortable position, running her hands in gentle touches over his back.

His muscles loosened as he chuckled, deeply and quietly, into her ear. “You hear the strangest things. Is it so unbelievable that I just wanted to dance with you?”

She breathed in the smell of Sherlock Holmes deeply, listening to his violin fill the room, and knew that it absolutely was unbelievable that he was here just to dance with her, in her tiny room and restless home.


End file.
